


Batman Is Dead

by April2445



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - Fandom, DC - Fandom, DCU (Comics), comics - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April2445/pseuds/April2445
Summary: After the sudden death of Batman, the whole of Gotham is thrown into chaos. But when a contest to find the 'New Knight' is announced, who will take over as the city's protector? A loose continuation of the 'Batman Eternal' series set in the New 52 continuity.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Another mission

The alarm on the Batcomputer began to sound, along with a harsh, red flashing light. Bruce Wayne looks over from his workout area, a large weight in his hand. He wears a black shirt and jeans, an expensive designer brand. Alfred approaches the computer, he is wearing a neat, pressed back suit. With a few keyboard clicks he brings up a live video feed onscreen.

"Mr Wayne, we have a situation, and it's a big one. I'll get the car ready." Alfred explains and goes over to another console. A 3D model of the Batmobile's systems is displayed, he immediately begins setting up the vehicle for the mission. Bruce watches the footage with a look of determination. It shows the streets of Metropolis, tall modern buildings either side of a road intersection. A giant shark like creature is rampaging. It tears streetlamps and stomps cars.

"King Shark, it's been a long time but I've been expecting him to break out of Belle Reve for a while now. I'll be taking the armoured suit." He replies, still unfazed and he walks purposefully towards his display of Batsuits. Dozens of different suits are lined up in clear tubes. One is bigger than the others and is covered in thick metal plating. Bruce keys in a password on the tube's keypad and the glass slides downwards into the floor.

The armoured suit splits open down the middle and Bruce steps into it. He manually pulls down the helmet over his face and the eyes light up with a blue glow. Stepping out, he tests the mechanism by clenching the suits metal fists. Alfred pulls a lever on the computer console and one of the cave walls slides away to reveal a hidden room. Inside is the Batmobile, a sleek, advanced design with tinted red windows and curving wing shapes rising at the back. It boots up as Batman gets near, the lights blinking on. The door rises up, intercom already crackling into life. Alfred's voice is heard through the speaker as Bruce sits in the driver's seat.

"I have set the car's GPS coordinates for 42nd Street Metropolis. Right next to the Central Bank, which I assume the giant shark man is there to rob. Good luck out there sir." He said with a confident tone. Batman pulls away in the car, driving along a raised platform towards the cave entrance.

"Thanks Alfred. Keep me informed." Batman responds as he puts his foot down on the accelerator, causing orange flames to roar out of the car's back exhausts. The platform gives way to a tarmacked road that spills out of the jagged cave entrance. As the Batmobile speeds away, the entrance closes again and a waterfall starts to pour over the cliff face, concealing the hidden cave.

Following the GPS screen on his dashboard, Batman continues onto a busy highway, weaving in and out of traffic. Cars slow to let him pass, by now well used to seeing him head off to save the day again. In the distance is Metropolis, with it's towering skyscrapers. The Daily Planet building is visible with its rotating golden globe. Hovering above are a few gigantic blimps tethered to the buildings. One of them is green with the yellow Lexcorp logo plastered on it. Batman reaches the city outstirts and skids to a halt.

The top half of the Batmobile slides back and Batman vaults over the front bonnet. He starts to run across the street. Already car alarms and screams echo around from the merciless beast's attack. Suddenly there is an unmistakable explosion sound and a plume of smoke rises up, visible over the rooftops. Taking his grappling hook gun from his belt, Batman breaks into a sprint. He fires the grapple onto a nearby rooftop and pulls himself upwards. The wire retracts swiftly with a press of a button. Reaching the roof he extends his cape into a rigid glider and leaps off the edge.

The air rushes all around him and propels him higher with a sudden gust. Circling high above the streets, there is a clear vantage point to observe the scene. In the now empty street, King Shark walks ever closer to the bank. In his wake is a trail of burning cars, torn up pavement and murdered civilians. A burst of rage flows through Batman's body upon seeing the butchered people, half bitten or slashed apart.

With a flick of his wings the glider snaps back into a loose cape, letting him freefall in a spinning motion towards the ground. King Shark starts to charge head-on to the bank's doors, trying to barge his way through. Batman's two feet come slamming down onto the giant creature's head, knocking him heavily onto the ground. He rubs his thick head.

"Ahh, the Batman. I would hoping you would show up!" he growls in an animalistic, gravelly voice. With a grunt King Shark swings his bulky fist. It is easily avoided as Batman rolls out of harm's way, landing behind his opponent. He raises the grappling hook and fires a shot that flies straight for the meaty fin on King Shark's back.

It bounces away, repelled by thick impenetrable skin. The lumbering beast turns, a snarling toothy grin stretched across his face. With a quick flick of his tail he smashes the grappling hook into pieces on the ground.

"Pathetic, you think your toys can break me? I am the strongest of them all!" he roars, charging forwards. This time Batman isn't quick enough. He is hit side-on and is thrown with a mighty force, colliding into the solid bank doors. No words come as he tries to speak, but just coughs. King Shark strolls over cockily and picks up Batman in one clenched fist.

"Is that it? The stories were wrong, Batman can be defeated! And this time I will end you once and for all." He grumbles in a menacing tone. Panicked thoughts run through Batman's head. He hadn't been prepared for this. For the first time ever he didn't have a plan, he wasn't prepared. His confidence had got the better of him and it seemed like finally his luck had run out.

Razor sharp claws press against the Bat symbol on the armoured suit's chest piece, then pierce through. Batman lets out a choked cry as he is impaled. For a few moments he stares forward, held in the air by the claws jutting between his ribs. Through the visor he sees the smug triumphant grin of his enemy. The claws are pulled out and he is left to fall to the ground.

The shock of the impact sends sharp shooting pains through his limbs. He begins to black out as he feels the rush of blood leaving his chest wounds. Sudden images flash across his vision. They are of his childhood, playing with his parents in the halls of Wayne Manor. Then of the tragic day when they were murdered in an alleyway. His entire life was racing by in front of him. He knew that this was the end.

The last image he saw was from the first time he put on the Batsuit. He could almost feel the cowl in his younger hands. Don't do it, he thought desperately. But it was inevitable. He was powerless as the memory continued. The cowl was raised to his head and lowered over his eyes. It was done, Batman accepted. It was time to let go, he thought. He had tried but he had failed.

King Shark laughs, standing over the lifeless body of Batman. He turns away, goes to grabs hold of the bank door with his strong hand. A blue and red blur zooms by and throws him from his feet. Superman powers through the air, King Shark dragged along by the immense power clutching his throat. In two lightning fast punches he is knocked unconscious, then carelessly tossed to the ground below with a thud.

Superman flies down slowly and lands feet from Batman's body. He is in disbelief as his x-ray vision reveals the extent of the damage. There is a puncture straight through the lung. Superman suddenly realised that his friend wasn't so immortal after all. With a heavy heart, he lifts the body and shoots up into the air again.

"Bruce, I don't know what to do. You can't die. The Batman can't die." Superman whispered to himself, tears forming in his eyes. He saw red, instantly flying forwards at near lightspeed. Within seconds he was at the Fortress of Solitude. In the middle of the icy front room is a long table which he lays the body down onto. He carefully removes the cowl to reveal the face of Bruce Wayne, now drained of colour. Green light spreads across the pale face, the fortress's healing system kicks in. Superman was aware of the fact that it would do nothing to help him now. It was too late. He slumps to his knees and pounds the ground with his fist in defeat.

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Lex Luthor stands looking out over Metropolis though his buildings wide window. From here he can see the Central Bank and the fight that is raging on in front of it. Batman and some sort of shark man are fighting, just an ordinary, routine day, he thought.

"Computer. Bring up live feed for the Central Bank" he spoke succinctly to his automated, voice activated computer system. A projection flashed up in front of Lex's eyes. It showed a clearer picture of the fight, and something unexpected was happening. It appeared the mighty Batman was losing. The shark had him locked in a tight grip and it smiled as it dug it's claws into his body.

Lex stepped back in disbelief, he couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the footage. Batman lay on the ground writhing in pain. It had actually happened, he thought, with a mixture of relief and confusion. The Batman was gone. A sudden panic came over Lex as he realised just what this meant.

"Computer, Emergency Justice League Channel. Code 555." He recited the command that would call the League. And the code that told them that the worst had happened, that one of their members had been killed. All their disagreements were put aside, Lex realised that this situation was bigger than any rivalry between himself and Superman.

"Connecting. All league members have been alerted sir." The computer responded. An instant passed, then a red and blue streak zoomed through the air. The man of steel had arrived, but it was far too late. Lex turned and walked away from the window after he saw Superman leave, the corpse in his arms. Now, the question of what to do next, he wondered. Of course there was always the protocol he had put in place, but actually being in this seemingly impossible situation, Lex began to reconsider if it was the right thing to do.

"Computer, begin setting up The New Knight protocol for activation at my command. And send out the drones to scrub any security footage from today. We don't want anyone getting heed of this news too early." He commanded, already deep in thought and planning his next move.

There was a loud buzzing as dozens of small, green drones were activated. Lex watches out the window as they poured out from the building. They spread out across Metropolis in minutes. Each one attaching itself to the cameras around the area. A small electromagnetic pulse was emitted, causing all the recordings from that day to be wiped.

"28 cameras wiped sir. 1 additional unwiped camera detected." The computer informed him bluntly. Lex was suddenly angry. He clenched his fist.

"What the hell do you mean, 1 camera wasn't wiped! Where is it?" he said angrily, his brow furrowing and his mouth curling into a snarl.

"Daily Planet news helicopter was broadcasting a live feed of the event. Their broadcast can be viewed by tuning over to channel-" the automated voice was cut off by a wave of Lex's hand. He looked out once again to the window with the view of the skyline. In the distance he could see the Daily Planet helicopter buzzing around in circles, a large mounted camera tracking across the city. The future was uncertain, and Lex Luthor was more than ready to do something about it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The doppelganger

Arkham Asylum was going through it's usual nightly routine when the news reached them. Batman had been killed. For the staff, and the inmates who overheard their hushed converstaions, it was a sobering thought. This was especially true for Jeremiah Arkham, the director of the Asylum and the nephew of it's founder. He had been sitting in his office going through some paperwork when one of the nurses told him. The very idea of a world without Batman was like a punch in the gut.

Right now he was continuing on with his duties, checking over each of the few hundred prison cells, trying not to panic or break down. Head of security Aaron Cash follows him, a baton held at the ready in one hand. Where his other hand would be, is instead a sharp looking metal hook. They walk from one cell to the next, Arkham shining a torch into the semi-darkened cells and ticking off each one on a chart.

"What are we supposed to do boss? Without Batman, I mean, well he put almost 90 percent of these inmates in here in the first place." Aaron wearily asked. Arkham shook his head and rubbed his eyes, he seemed like he could fall down from exhaustion at any moment.

"I don't know, ok? We have to carry on as usual, like we always do. There are duties here that cannot be ignored. Speaking of-" he trailed off as they reached the next cell. This one still had its lights turned on, giving a clinical white glow from inside. The sign next to it reads 'Victor Zsasz'.

"Come on Zsasz, lights out!" Aaron taps his baton on the cell bars making a loud clang. Inside, Zsasz is sitting on his bed, rocking back and forth. He looks up slowly towards the sound.

"Tell me it isn't true." he whispers, his voice hoarse and croaky. Arkham gestures for Aaron to lower his weapon, then moves right up to the bars. He speaks softly in a fatherly tone.

"I'm afraid it is Victor, Batman was killed this afternoon when-" he is cut short as Zsasz stands and runs forward suddenly, grabbing the bars with both hands. His eyes are wild and bloodshot. In the light there is a clear view of the many tally marks scratched into his skin.

"He can't be dead! It's not fair! What about the most important tally mark, I saved a special place for his one, right here!" he screams, pointing to his forehead where there are four long cuts, and space for a fifth diagonal one. Arkham is unfazed, simply flicking off the lights in Zsasz's cell leaving him sobbing in the darkness. They move quickly on, heading to the next cell.

This next cell is already dark. Moonlight coming in from the window illuminates only the lower body of the inmate, concealing their face. But both men already know exactly who occupies this cell without reading the sign, 'Thomas Elliot'. Aaron doesn't dare go near, staying back against the corridor's opposite wall. Arkham shines his torch like a spotlight, revealing Thomas's face, a face reconstructed using plastic surgery to exactly resemble the appearance of Bruce Wayne. He is wearing an orange prison jumpsuit that is faded and frayed.

"Hello again Thomas. Random contraband check. Stand up and move away from the bars." Arkham says in a commanding voice. Thomas dosen't move a muscle.

"Hello doctor. I assume you've heard the news. Batman is dead, and we both know exactly what that means. It means that when I get out of here, and I will, I can finally, truly be free." He used a mocking, confident tone that sent a chill down Arkham's spine. With a slight stammer in his voice this time, Arkham repeated himself.

"Contraband check. Stand up, and move away from the bars. I won't ask you again." he didn't seem very convinced of this himself. Thomas simply chuckled to himself, then leaned back in an over-the-top relaxed pose.

"Just you wait and see doctor. My opportunity is about to arise." He replies. The two men look at each other unsure of what to do. Arkham signals for backup and Aaron immediatly takes his walkie-talkie from his belt and raises it to his ear.

As if on que, there is a loud rumbling sound from behind them that grows to a deafening whooshing in seconds. The corridor is instantly filled with a searing heat that causes both men's eyes to widen in panic.

"Get down! Get out the way it's-" Arkham crys out but it's too late. An explosion of white hot fire tears down the wall behind Aaron. Pieces of concrete fly outwards, knocking him to the ground. Arkham shields his eyes from fire and can only stare as the smoke clears. Through a gaping, jagged hole in the wall, Firefly lands and retracts his metal wings. His face is covered by a black visor and his body is protected by a black heat proof suit.

Arkham sprints down the corridor but dosen't get far. Firefly points his flamethrower and sprays a torrent of fire. The sheer force of it pushes Arkham tumbling forwards where he hits his head on the ground hard, losing consciousness in seconds. Smoke curls from his white lab coat and a smear of blood trickles from a small cut on his face.

Firefly approaches Thomas's cell, stepping over broken pieces of wall. Behind him, the moon shines through the large hole, filling the corridor with a silver light. Thomas squints and stands up from the bed, rubbing his temple.

"Oh man, Firefly, you really made an entrance. And a loud one at that." He quips.

"Thomas Elliot, aka Hush, I have been hired to break you out of here. But there is one condition, you must perform exactly what my employer requires of you. Do you understand?" he asks, his voice deep and resonant through the breathing mask. Thomas nods his head, seeming unsure. His confident aura has vanished.

"Stand back." Firefly states and puts the end of his flamethrower up to the cell bars. It produces a much smaller blue flame like a blowtorch. He moves it in a circular motion and sparks fly. Within a few seconds the bars are sliced through, leaving a space big enough for someone to crawl through. Thomas ducks through the hole somewhat sheepishly. He grins as he looks around at the two unconscious men and the destruction around him.

"Nice work. Now are you going to fill me in, on what exactly what the hell is going on here?" he asks, annoyed. Firefly says nothing. He proceeds to take off his bulky backpack and rummage through it, finally bringing out two items. A black suit and pair of black shoes. He then lifts his visor and mask, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air.

Thomas is taken aback at the sight of Firefly's face. The skin is hideously burnt and red raw. Some parts seem to have been melted away, showing the muscle beneath. His eyes are clouded over with a milky white. When he speaks his voice is rough as if he has inhaled smoke.

"What's going on here is that Batman, and by extension Bruce Wayne is dead. And Bruce Wayne can't die, because that would mean Wayne Enterprises being handed over to his brat kid Damien. So, from this moment onwards, you are Bruce Wayne." He hands over the suit and shoes which Thomas puts on reluctantly, dropping his orange jump suit to the ground.

"Hold on. Who hired you? Who wants me to take Wayne's place so desperately that they sent you, of all people?" Thomas questioned, getting more and more suspicious. He finishes putting on his tie and straightens it. He is now almost indistinguishable from Bruce Wayne.

"Lex Luthor hired me. And for this price, it was hard to refuse." he shrugs.

"Makes sense. I shouldn't have underestimated that man's greed. Of course he would take the first chance he had to snatch up yet another multibillion dollar company." Thomas said, thinking out loud. He practices a cheesy smile, the façade of the man he was pretending to be's winning personality. Then his face goes back to the unreadable mix of scheming and deranged.

"What's in it for me? I get to run the company, and Luthor gets to tell me what to do? Sounds like a raw deal." Thomas grumbles. He was already running through in his head all the ways he could escape the situation, or turn it to his advantage.

"You will be paid of course, very, very well. One more thing, this is a clone of the late Mr Wayne's phone. This should give you all you need to know. And check the calendar. You have a meeting with Mr Luthor tomorrow morning." Firefly said, handing over a silver phone with a sleek modern design. Thomas turns it on and the screensaver appears onscreen. It is an old photograph of Bruce at about 15 years old. An unexpected pang of sadness washes over Thomas as he remembers his childhood friend. He is snapped back to reality when he remembers those days are long gone.

Firefly lowers the visor again and turns towards the hole in the wall. The long metal wings extend outwards and the thrusters begin to hum and ripple with heat.

"Hey wait a minute! How do I get out of here, this is still a prison!" Thomas strains his voice over the increasing drone of the thruster's engine. Firefly turns his head and replies in the same disguised voice.

"You're Bruce Wayne remember? You walk out of here." He replies, then rises of the ground. There is a rush of heat and air as the jetpack takes him high into the air, disappearing into the night sky within seconds. A trail of orange smoke is left behind, dissipating in the wind. Thomas stands watching for a few moments, making sure Firefly isn't coming back.

Thomas had been opposed to the idea the moment he had heard it. Being a puppet for Luthor, and getting paid pennies in comparison to how much Lexcorp would make off of the deal. It was an insult to him, he thought angrily. He had to make sure he came out on top.

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The iceberg casino is bustling with life and filled with celebration. Hundreds of patrons sit around long tables, eating and drinking in an extravagant feast. Classical music blares over high tech speakers. The air is chilly from the icy walls and ceiling with chandeliers made of icicles. On a soild ice balcony overlooking the expansive room, are a collection of high ranking villains.

They sit around a wooden table covered with stacks of bank notes bound together. Black Mask, or Roman Sionis, leans forward in his chair, turning a hefty knife over and over in his gloved hands. He wears a bright white suit and his signature skull shaped ebony mask, permanently stuck to his skin. Sitting next to him is Warren White, the 'Great White Shark'. He wears a blue waistcoat over a red pinstripe shirt. As, he looks down at the festivities there is a disgusted expression of his face, not helped by his sharpened teeth and blank white complexion.

The Penguin stands facing out towards the crowds. He had organised this meeting as soon as the news hit. It was his attempt to control the various gangs, and hold off the inevitable rush for power when they all tried to weasel into the void that Batman had left behind. It was clear to every crime boss in the city that they were now freer than ever to claim their territories. Oswald was too experienced to let any of his power slip from his grasp, and into the hands of some low rate, opportunistic chancer, he thought smugly.

The Penguin raises his glass triumphantly, gripping the balcony like a king addressing his subjects. He shouts out, his voice echoing in the cavern like room.

"Welcome one and all to my Iceberg Casino! Enjoy yourselves! Drink, eat and celebrate, the Batman is finally dead!" he bellows in a victory cry. There is a murmuring and a few cheers from the crowd. Penguin sit back down heavily on a wooden chair, with a deep sigh. His overweight frame makes it creak. The other two men turn their attention to him. In his pudgy fingers emblazoned with gleaming rings, he picks up a wad of money and waves it back and forth.

"So, let's get to it Cobblepot. We both know why you called us here today. Now that the bat is out of the picture every criminal in Gotham will be trying to take over." Warren proclaimed. Penguin's face remained a grumpy scowl.

"Right you are, we have to make sure we're ahead of the curve. And that starts right, now." Penguin is using a tone that is deadly serious.

"I have word of Carmine Falcone's men already moving to reclaim their turf on North East street. It's started already, the breaking down of our work, by that coward Falcone." His face turns red as he rasps the insult. Roman slams his knife into the table.

"What the hell are we waiting for! We should already have people breaking down his door and gunning him down! They are out there right now while we sit here deliberating," he trails off as he sees Penguin's expression change from one of anger to a sly smile. He gets up again, this time using his umbrella as a cane to support his weight.

"Have some more faith Sionis, all is not lost." He gestures towards the door behind them and it swings open. An imposing figure steps out. He has a large, brown bushy beard like a lion's mane. Visible beneath it are deep set facial scars.

"The name's Rex Calabrese, formally 'The Lion'. The odds may seem stacked up against us but I know exactly how we get to Falcone, and cut him down." He speaks clearly and confidently, his leading manner living up to the showy entrance. The Penguin grins ear to ear.

"You know Rex of course. Used to be the biggest mob boss in Gotham city. Your reputation precedes you." He is unusually gleeful, thinking about the strategic advantage they have.

"'Used to be' is the problem. Carmine took that from me, and it's time for us to take it back. I used to think the Natural Order was my retirement, and Falcone replacing me as the top dog. But that was in a time when costumed heroes still reigned. Times have changed. And with them the Natual Order has shifted. It's time for the Lion to move back up to the top of the food chain." He delivers this speech with grandiose. Roman doesn't seem too impressed.

"This man's daughter, Selina Kyle, has been a thorn in my side for years! Why should I listen to a word you say Rex?" Roman stands and jabs his finger into Rex's chest. His eyes, seen through though his mask, widen in anger. Rex stands rooted to the ground. With both of his solid hands he grabs Roman by his collar, lifting him off his feet. Then, almost casually, he drops him onto the ground where he lands hard on his back.

"My daughter is no concern of yours. I can assure you there will be no interference from Catwoman any time soon. Selina may be your enemy, but she is also Falcone's. And for now, that means you and her have a common adversary. So you lay a finger on her, or me, ever again, and you'll see that my bite is just as big as my bark!" He roars at Roman, still lying on the ground. Warren helps him to his feet and they all sit down. Penguin stands at the head of the table.

"Now, now, let's not let tensions get too high. We all want a shot at Falcone, that much is clear, but let's not destroy each other in the process. Let's raise a glass, to the death of the Bat, and to our rise back to the rulers of Gotham city!" he holds his glass high. The other men do the same. Oswald is already thinking about how uneasy the temporary alliance between the four men is. As he drinks his expensive champagne and looks at the gathering pack of criminals, he realises how unstable his business really is.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The empty house

It had been 20 hours since Batman had been murdered. Alfred Pennyworth hadn't slept or eaten during that time. It had just been an ordinary mission. Bruce fighting a crazed, bankrobbing opponent. He had been sitting at the Batcomputer, monitoring the Batsuit's systems when he saw a spike in the heartbeat monitor. His years as a doctor told him there had been a rupture in Bruce's heart and lung, and in that moment it felt like he had suffered the same blow.

Alfred recalled the other times that his friend had been 'killed', there had always been a glimpse of hope that he would return. This time that hope was gone. It felt more real than ever, and the Batsuit's medical report confirmed this. For hours he poured over the data, desperately searching for a glitch or outlier. Brain activity, heartbeat and body temperature levels all confirmed it without a doubt. The time of the Batman had come to an end.

It felt to Alfred like his purpose had been taken away. For as long as he could remember he had raised Bruce like his own son. Trained and tutored him in the absence of his parents. But what had it come to, he thought. It had all led up to him becoming a costumed hero, risking his life night after night. Alfred realised that he had let it happen. He had let grief consume the young boy, and now it was too late.

In the manor's huge front room, Alfred sat on a velvet sofa in front of a cinema-sized plasma TV screen. The room was still dark as the floor to ceiling curtains were still drawn. The footage on screen was of a news report. Reporter Vicki Vale was standing in front of the Metropolis Central Bank holding a microphone.

"Welcome back, I'm here with an update on the tragic events of yesterday afternoon, where Gotham's own vigilante Batman was killed in a battle with the so-called King Shark. As you can see behind me, clean-up crews are working to repair the damage. And I believe we have some footage showing the apprehension of the suspect." She emotionlessly delivers the lines.

The footage changes now, showing King Shark's unconscious body being hauled up by a large crane. He is lifted into the back of a waiting truck with 'Iron Heights Maximum Security' written on the side. Alfred switches off the TV. He stands and starts pacing up and down the room, in deep thought. As he stands in front of the grandfather clock, something comes to mind, an idea that he just can't help thinking about. What if Bruce did have a backup plan?

For every situation possible he had had a detailed plan, and several backups. If he had one for all eventualities during his life, why wouldn't he have made one for after his death? Yes, he thought hopefully, it made perfect sense! There was an unexpected knock on the door. Then another a few seconds later. Alfred got to his feet, his ageing bones aching, and headed to open it.

Upon opening the door he was surprised to see Lucius Fox, Bruce's business manager. He wore a brown tweed suit and thick rimmed glasses. It was clear that he was tired and anxious, but put on a false looking smile.

"Good day Mr Fox, would you like to come in? Can I take your coat?" Alfred asked politely, keeping up him welcoming manner even in the dire situation. Lucius waves away the help, instead continuing through the lobby into the front room.

"Let's cut past all the formalities Alfred, I have to know. This time, is it real? Is he really gone?" he asks longingly. Alfred just nods his head.

"Listen, I came here for a reason. Bruce once shared something with me. Something that he told me never to reveal until after he had died. I don't suppose he ever imagined that would happen," he mumbles, now walking up to the grandfather clock that housed a secret entrance into the cave. He moves the second and hours hands to 10:47, the time of Thomas and Martha Wayne's murders. With a creaking and grinding, the clock shifts to one side to reveal the stairs leading down a dark passageway.

Alfred follows Lucius as he hurries down the stair into the Batcave. The immense cavernous space is pitch black. Within seconds the computer systems recognise the two men's presence and the cave powers back on, bright overhead spotlights shining down. The large screen of the Batcomputer also switches on, displaying a login screen.

"Bruce had numerous secret bank accounts. Around 200 million dollars in total, siphoned out of the companies' assets over many years. A lot of Mr Wayne's investments were fabricated, built to transfer money to these savings." He seems somewhat ashamed. They reach the main control room and Alfred sits down, his face turned a paler shade. Lucius gets to work logging into the computer.

"Sorry. Obviously this came as a shock to me at first, as Wayne Enterprises' business manager first and foremost. But I realised over time that it was for good reason. This fund is to be used for donations into Gotham's infrastructure. Police department, hospitals, the asylum and the orphanage. The secrecy was more than necessary, none of the other board members would have allowed such a large sum to be spent." He appears disgruntled at the thought.

"You're right. Mr Wayne often talked about his grievances with the board. I hate to imagine what they would have done with the money in his absence. Most likely tripling the investment into arms and weapons development." Alfred shared Lucius' sentiment. Onscreen, he was going through lists of company accounts and bookkeeping.

"Here, the 'Legacy Fund' he called it. Something to prop up the people of the city one he was gone. You're in charge of it now. Whenever you're ready you can begin distributing it. Sorry for your loss, and good luck." He stepped back from the keyboard and shook Alfred's hand with a warm smile. As he stayed looking at the screen in awe, he heard Lucius leave through the secret entrance again. What seemed like a flurry of thoughts flew through Alfred's head. If this was kept from him all this time, what other secrets was the cave hiding?

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It was a bright glorious day. Thomas Elliot strolled down the streets of downtown Gotham, wearing an expensive suit, diamond cufflinks, and bearing the face of a dead man. People smiled at him as he passed. It felt for the first time as if he belonged. Rising up out of the ground in front of him like a monolith was Wayne Tower.

Armed guards stepped aside politely as he walked through the security scanners across the entrance. It was so easy, he thought with giddy excitement. Everyone thought he was Bruce Wayne. The heavily furnished waiting room was bustling with activity. Businessmen in suits hurrying about, stacks of paper and files in their arms. Each one of them greeted him with either a nervous smile or blank, tired expression.

Thomas leaned over the receptionist's counter and flashed her the same confident smile he had practiced. She brushed back her hair and blushed, handing over a pile of papers.

"Sir, I wasn't expecting you so late. These are the reports you ordered. And you are 16 minutes late for the meeting with Mr Luthor meeting on floor 7." She succinctly and professionally said. Thomas took the papers and flicked though them, not understanding a word of their contents. He dropped them back on the desk.

"Hey, looks good to me hon. Great work, keep it up!" He replied with a cheesy wink and stepped backwards into the elevator. The receptionist was bemused and started to reply when Thomas pressed a button, closing the doors. The ride to the 7th floor took only a few seconds in the state of the art elevator. The glass walls gave a view of Gotham with it's modern buildings crowded amongst hundred year old churches and offices.

The doors slide open and waiting directly in front of them was Lex Luthor, arms crossed and impatiently tapping his foot. He wore an ill-fitting black suit with a green tie that seemed to restrict his neck a little too much.

"Where the hell have you been? I expected you 16 minutes ago! We had an arrangement 'Mr Wayne'." He appears to be deeply uncomfortable calling Thomas by that name, from the way he spits it like an insult. Thomas doesn't flinch at Luthor's apparent distain for him.

"Sorry about that, I don't like to keep my business partners waiting," he smirks as he responds clearly sarcastically. Luthor snaps suddenly, rushing forwards and slamming Thomas, an iron grip around his throat.

"You seem to be misunderstanding our deal Mr Elliot! You aren't the one in charge! I expect you to do exactly as I say in order to keep this company alive. And that involves keeping quiet, keeping complacent, and most importantly not blowing your cover." He releases Thomas, who slumps against the wall, taken aback at Luthor's sudden outburst.

"Now if you'll follow me," He is calm again as he holds open the door to an office. Inside the extravagant office is an oversized desk with a computer, and a window that takes up the whole outside wall. Thomas sit down sheepishly behind the desk.

"So, what's going to happen here is you go about your business, attend meetings, shake hands, whatever. And I will send you your orders through Mr Wayne's phone, which you will complete without question. Now is that perfectly clear?" he asks rhetorically. Thomas nods, feeling a sense of unease.

He was used to being in control and this whole situation was beginning to look more and more desperate by the second. It was probably best not to argue, he thought. It was clear to him that Lex Luthor was more unhinged than he had previously thought.

"Oh, and if you needed any extra motivation not to step out of line," he looks smug as he turns to face the cityscape out of the window, holding up one hand like a signal. A red laser sight beam shines through the window, settling on Thomas' chest. He freezes in place as the red dot circles around his heart.

"The weapon pointed at your chest is a wrist mounted, high velocity sniper rifle. Of course you will know this as Deadshot's signature weapon, and you might also know what he is famous for, the fact that he will never miss a shot. I do hope his services don't become necessary, wouldn't want to stain the room's exquisite décor." He is almost sinister as he stands over the desk with his arms crossed. As Luthor leaves the room the laser sight disappears.

Thomas isn't any less nervous. The knowledge that Deadshot is watching him from a nearby building, guns at the ready, sends a panicked feeling through his body. He tries to distract his mind from this fact when something appears on the computer screen. It is a message titled 'Legacy Fund activated'.

This gets his attention immediately and he clicks on it, not knowing what to expect. The content of the message is details of bank accounts and taxes, but what really peaks his interest is the number at the bottom of the page. Close to 200 million dollars. Thomas heart skipped a beat. He tries to compose himself as he reads on. There is also a audio file attached, which he plays.

"Alfred, this message will reach you have activated my legacy fund. Fox will have told you of the less than official way in which I have acquired this money, and for that I apologise, but I will also say that I don't regret anything." It was the voice of Bruce Wayne, sounding more youthful but also quite saddened.

"I have had to keep this secret from the other board members. I fear that in the event of my death they would squander this money on their own projects. Furthering their own interests over those of the city. I trust it will now go to a better cause." The recording cuts off. Thomas is awestruck. He struggles to even begin comprehending what he has just heard.

Millions have essentially just been gifted to him. The fact that it was unknown to anyone else at the company meant he was free to use it however he wanted, and ideas were already beginning to form about exactly how he would spend it. For a start he would cancel it's distribution to the hospitals and orphanages, he thought greedily. And then he would fund his escape, and after that, who knows what he could do.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Turf war

Gotham's North East Street is a hive of crime and degradation. Almost every house in the district is crumbling, some of them burnt to their foundations. Graffiti and trash are strewn about. No police would dare enter it, but a few armed officers patrol the outskirts, making sure the filth doesn't continue to spread. The city has all but abandoned the area, leaving it to the gangs, and for the last few years The Penguin's gang has taken root.

It started with Cobblepot buying up large swathes of the street's hosuing, through his legitimate business. These were quickly turned into dens for his illegal weapons dealings, and as intended, the street declined. New buyers were put off, and existing residents moved away. The effect was dramatically bringing down house prices, ready for Cobblepot to purchase them for mere pennies. He and his lowlife thugs had owned the whole block, but that was about to change. The rumours were true, the notorious gangster Carmine Falcone was moving to take over North East Street.

It was evening and the sun was just about to set. Long shadows stretch out in the orange glow. On a particularly run down stretch of houses, two men armed with baseball bats and machetes walk down the street. Their purple outfits are ragged and splattered with dirt. The black penguin insignia is stitched onto their coats. The bigger man takes out a cigarette and lights it with a match.

"Hey, did you remember to lock up the weapons crates this time?" he blows smoke outwards in a plume as he directs this question aggressively. The other man opens his mouth to speak when there is a screech of tires from behind them. An old fashioned car pulls up and it's doors fly open. Bright white muzzle flashes explode from the dark. Bullets fly and thud into the bigger man. His cigarette splashes into a puddle.

Stepping out from inside the car are a trio of gangsters in fedoras and black suits, tommy guns still smoking at the barrel. Falcone's men are well prepared. They reload and the remaining penguin gang member clumsily spins around and sprints across the road. He dives to the ground as another barrage of white hot bullets flash across above his head.

Panting for breath, he scrambles behind a rusty dumpster for cover. The gangsters, still silent and foreboding, press forwards to his hiding place, reloading their weapons once again. They are about to reach him when something flies downwards at their feet. It's a small metal smoke canister which hits the ground and activates. Pure white smoke sprays out of the end, filling the street in seconds. A thick cloud of smoke blocks all visibility.

The gangsters are panicked. Their eyes dart around, searching for the source of the attack, but seeing only whiteness. A figure comes through the shroud like a blur, kicking a tommy gun harmlessly aside. It clatters to the floor and they all swivel round to where the sound came from, firing aimlessly into nothing.

Another glimpse of an agile figure through the misty white. A second gun is wrenched out from one of the gangster's hands. The final armed man shouts into the unknown in front of him, sending a torrent of bullets in an arc. He stops when he hears nothing, no confirmation he has scored a hit. Then a sharp blow comes down onto the back of his head. He too has his gun taken from his grasp.

The smoke clears and Nightwing is standing triumphant, three guns in a pile at his feet. The disarmed gangster trio look powerless for a moment.

"There will be no more killing tonight boys." Nightwing states. He extends his metal staff and spins it in a defensive pose. In response the gangsters take flick knifes from their pockets and edge forwards.

"Looks as if you're outnumbered bird boy. It's time to learn who's boss around here." One of them snarls, gritting his teeth and holding the knife outstretched. From the air, another figure swoops down, landing behind the men. It's Red Robin, who is sporting his black mask and red wings. They all shift his attention to him, taken by surprise.

"We're not going down without a fight!" Robin shouts before rushing forwards. The two masked heroes fight for their lives, Nightwing delivering strikes with his staff, and Robin jabbing and blocking with his fibreglass wings. The knife wielding men are no match, and within minutes, all but one of them are sprawled out on the ground, grimacing with pain.

The third man sinks to his knees, and wipes a drip of his own blood from his mouth with one sleeve.

"You won't stop this, Falcone will take over Gotham city and there's nothing a few costumed kids can do about it. Batman isn't here to protect you anymore." He is seething with anger but seems desperate.

"Tell us what Falcone's next move is. Where is he planning to take over next!" Nightwing interrogates the man. He doesn't respond. From all directions at once there is a deafening roar of engines. Another old fashioned car tears down an alleyway towards them, then two more from a sidestreet. In a lightning fast reaction, both heroes grapple up a nearby building to safety.

From the vantage point of a rooftop they watch as legions of Falcone's similarly dressed men pile out of the cars and spread out across the area. More of Penguins goons come into view. Sounds of gunfire are heard, echoing all around. Bright flashes of shots go back and forth between both gangs They can only watch as more fights begin to break out in the streets. Penguin's thugs are underprepared, some getting cut down one after another, and others putting up a fight.

Robin walks to the edge of the roof, preparing to glide down into action again, when Nightwing blocks his path.

"It's too dangerous Tim. We can't stop this. There are way too many of them." He sighs as he talks regretfully.

"Things have changed. Batman, err, Bruce really is gone this time. We can't stop the killing on our own." Nightwing said. Robin shakes his head and looks out over the scenes in front of them, thinking to himself. It hadn't even been two days and already things had descended into chaos. The tension between the gangs had finally broken, and began an all-out war.

"We can't stop it all, but we can sure try," Robin shouts as he pushes past and leaps off the roof into a low glide above the buildings. Nightwing follows behind, skilfully running and jumping from one roof to the next.

"Hey! Hold, up, Tim!" he calls out, losing ground on his teammate. Robin continues to fly determinedly. Spotting something, he angles his wings down and descends in a spiral, landing with a roll on a rooftop. Nightwing grapples across to him and joins him in his cover behind the roof's large air vents. From the building they can see a dozen gangsters running down a side street, guns aimed in all directions in a defensive position.

They are heading to a large delivery truck, haphazardly parked halfway up the pavement. On it's side the Penguin's symbol. It's door is left open, as if the driver abandoned it when the attack began. The gangsters take crowbars to the back doors and easily prize them open, revealing a stash of weaponry.

"They've got into Penguin's weapon supply. We have to take them down, now! With that much firepower, they could take control of the whole city!" Nightwing exclaims, still ducking out of sight behind the vent. Below them, the crates of weapons are being unloaded and passed around. Each man now has a hefty automatic machine gun. The largest of the group is barking orders.

"Now, spread out and find what's left of Penguin's goons. Kill every last one!" he angrily demands. He then goes into the truck himself and emerges with a smug grin, and a lethal rocket launcher over his shoulder. Nightwing and Robin carefully scale down the building, staying in the shadows to avoid being seen. They edge closer from around a corner, trying to hear what is being said by the ringleader.

"This thing is a beauty, right boys? Haven't seen a launcher this powerful in years! I'm thinking we fire a couple of shots in the Iceberg casino, but before then, lets do a quick test fire," he is almost joyous as he picks out a rocket the size of a football and slides into the barrel. Then he looks through the red sight and aims the heavy weapon at a nearby abandoned house.

Without warning, Robin dashes out of the shadows and tackles the ringleader to the ground. There is a large screeching hiss as the rocket fires, released at an upwards angle as it's wielder falls backwards. It sails through the air. A trail of red smoke follows it. It misses it's intended target, continuing past the house and curving into the air right into the side of the Gotham Railway Bridge. The metal is torn apart by the blast of heat.

"The train!" Nightwing shouts as he also runs out into the open. In a swoop, he helps Robin off the ground. They both sprint towards the bridge, darting side to side to avoid gunfire from behind. They reach the bridge and at the same time both realise it is too late. The sudden sound of an approaching train rings out deafeningly loud.

The bridge is twisted and charred where it was hit with the explosive blast. Metal rails curl upwards into deadly spikes. The train continues at a breakneck speed, unaware of the impending danger.

"How do we stop it?" Nightwing calls out, straining his voice above the noise. They both begin to climb up the bridge, clinging to the crisscrossing supports, feeling it vibrate and rattle. Robin shouts back.

"I don't know, we only have about a minute before it crashes!" he sounds desperate as he looks at the distant train, growing bigger by the second. They both stand in front of the broken bridge segment. Neither one moves. The ground begins to shake at it nears. In the train, the driver slams on the brake and sparks fly. It doesn't lose speed.

From behind Nightwing and Robin there is a rush of air as something flies low over their heads, landing in the train's path. They recognise their saviour as Batwing, wearing his metal armoured suit and a pair of large wings. He turns to them.

"Stand back! Get clear of the area!" he projects his voice robotically through his mask. He then stands with his arms outstretched and his legs locked rigidly into place. A moment passes before the train hits. The front carriage buckles and crumples as it impacts on Batwing's hands, sending him sliding across the track. He presses forwards with all his might, the suit's wings erupting with a powerful pulsing jet.

The immense pushing force slows the train, and it comes to a halt, inches from the gaping hole where it would have plunged to it's destruction. Batwing releases his grip on the carriage, his gloves have made a deep handprint shaped indentation on the metal. The jets power down and he goes over to where Nightwing and Robin are standing, both looking battered and exhausted.

"You two are lucky to be alive. That was a close call, way too close." He can't hide the surprise in his voice. They all look at the damage they were partly responsible for and wonder the same thing. Was there still a place for masked vigilantes in the city, or were they really causing more harm than good?

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The latest morning issue of the Gotham Gazette is delivered to LexCorp Tower. A nervous assistant brings it up to the office of Lex Luthor and knocks on his door.

"What is it!" he rudely responds, inexplicably angry. The assistant gulps and politely speaks again.

"The newspaper you asked for sir." She said, anxiously awaiting another dismissive response.

"Bring it in" he grumbles. The woman opens the door and hesitantly enters the office. It is an unexpectedly messy sight. On the desk are dozens of empty bottles of expensive alcohol. Stacks of documents and papers are piled high. An orange bottle of pain killer tablets is spilled out across the ground. Lex is slumped on the desk, head in hands. His eyes are bloodshot and have deep black bags under them. He looks up and forces a smile when the woman puts the newspaper down next to him.

"Close the door on the way out." He mumbles, picking up the paper and reading the headline. 'Bat sidekicks prevent train crash' is in bold letters on the front page. A picture shows the destroyed section of bridge and burn out train wreckage. In front is a crowd of injured passengers being treated by medics. Batwing is shaking the hand of a bandaged passenger. This story meant only one thing to Lex, that the situation had reached breaking point.

His prediction had been right, the wave of crime and corruption was beginning to spread. It was only a matter of time before it would spread to Metropolis, his city. And there was no way he would let that happen. Batman had been necessary, as a means of keeping the filth within Gotham's borders. Now he was dead, it was time to replace him with something better. It was time to activate the New Knight protocol.

"Computer, is it ready?" he speaks clearly to the automated system.

"Yes, the New Knight protocol is now ready for activation at your command." It replies in an artificially friendly way.

"Good, activate it. I fear I have waited too long already." He is regretful as he stands and goes over to the window. From the tower he can see the green LexCorp blimp drifting above the skyscrapers. On it's screen, a message flashes up 'The world needs a new Batman. Do you have what it takes? Come to the Old Gotham Subway at 12 midnight tomorrow to find out, in the New Knight Contest.'.

Across the rest of Metropolis and Gotham dozens of electronic billboards now display the same message. Lex knows it will be reported on every major news and radio station within minutes. There won't be anyone left in America who doesn't know about the hunt for the new Batman. All he has to do now is sit back and watch his plan come into effect.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Contest Begins

In an underground bunker on the outskirts of the city, Ra's al Ghul paces up and down his lavish throne room. It is exquisitely decorated with golden furniture and ancient artefacts lining the walls. Torches are lit on every wall, giving long flickering shadows as the flames dance. In the centre of the room is an ornate wooden throne on a raised platform. Two black cloaked guards stand at the door with their swords in a defensive position. It is clear that they would lay down their lives to protect their leader.

In the back of the room is a bubbling pool of green tinged water. An unearthly glow comes from deep within it. This is one of the city's many Lazarus pits, naturally occurring pools filled with life restoring properties. The League of Assassins built this particular outpost in the cave systems around the pit when it was discovered.

Ra's stops walking and sits on the throne, a look of concern on his face. He wears a black suit, over his shoulder is a green cloak with golden buckles. His curved blade hangs from his belt. Only a few moments earlier one of his scouts had relayed the news to him, of the unexpected contest looking for a new Batman. To Ra's, this had been exciting but also deeply troubling news.

"Guards, fetch Talia. I wish to tell her something." Ra's commands. One of the guards bows, and then leaves the room through a pair of large iron doors. Ra's stands and heads over to the Lazarus pit, steam rising from it. He slowly walks down the stone steps until he is waist deep in the water. Wisps of luminescent green energy rise upwards, curling around his body. The glowing becomes brighter and the water starts to bubble as if it is boiling over.

Ra's closes his eyes, feeling the healing effects of the pit start to take effect. The lines and wrinkles on his face begin to fade slightly. Grey streaks in his hair start turning back to brown. After a few seconds the effect slows and he steps out of the pool, the water returning back to normal. He stands flexing his muscles feeling the restoring energy running through his veins. There is a knock at the door.

"Yes, enter." He calls. Immediately Talia al Ghul bursts through the doors. She is wearing black, modern body armour, and appears to have been training from the sweat on her forehead.

"What is it father? You only bring me up to the throne room when something important is afoot. What's happening?" she asks impatiently. Ra's smiles at his daughter's brash attitude. She is the only one in the league who talks to him without fear and respect.

"I am going away Talia. I don't know how long I will be. While I am gone, I need you to be in charge of the League. You are the only one I trust enough to keep our operations running smoothly." He said, but doesn't give away any emotion in his voice. Talia is clearly surprised and pleased for a moment, then goes back to a concerned frown.

"Why are you giving me this power?" She says, now more curious than ever about the sudden decision. Ra's expression turns to a cunning smile.

"Because my fight against the Batman isn't over. He died, yet he lives on in his legacy, as protector of this city. I plan to take over his mantle and be a better guardian than he ever was. I am going to best him once and for all, by becoming the superior Batman!" he raises his voice with ferocity, fire burning in his eyes. He slides his sword from his belt and hands it over to Talia. She nods, more respectfully now, knowing what lies ahead in her role as protector of the league.

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A steady procession of rich, smartly dressed men and women make their way into the Diamond District's fanciest and most exclusive restaurant. It is an old building, wide candlelit windows and fancy entranceway. The sign outside reads 'Private Event'. When they have all finished arriving, the doors are firmly locked and a dozen security men guard the outside. The guests continue through into the restaurant chatting and laughing. The room is grand and high ceilinged. Elaborate chandeliers hang above the tables, each one covered with a satin cloth and a bouquet flower display.

Everyone takes their seats at the tables, glasses of bubbling champagne in hand. The room is cast into darkness as a floor to ceiling curtain is drawn across the windows, cutting off the view to the outside world. The noise dies down immediately, the guests now have more serious expressions on their faces. All of them reach underneath their chairs and bring out rounded white masks which they put on without hesitation. The masks have circular black eyes sockets and a beak-like nose ending in a sharp point, the mask of the Court of Owls.

At the front of the room is a large stage. From behind a door in the back, a tall man steps out onto the stage. He wears a black suit and the same owl mask that conceals his identity. When he speaks his voice is amplified by speakers all around the room.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters of the court. I have called this emergency meeting in a time of uncertainty and great change in our city. First the death of the Batman, now the contest to find his replacement. Another hero running around our streets is not something any of us want." He addresses the room to nods and muttered agreement from the rest of the court. An overweight man stands up and turns to the stage.

"I have word from our brothers in the league of assassins. It seems the Ra's al Ghul's arrogance has led him to enter the contest, leaving the fate of the league in the hands of his daughter. With it practically unprotected, this is the perfect hour for our long-withheld takeover of his organisation." the fat man suggests and then sits back down. The tall man on the stage appears to ponder this over, then he replies succinctly.

"But what of the demon's head himself? Does he not have enough devoted followers to reignite his cause once it has been dismantled? The league is not simply their strongholds and their army, it is their ideals and beliefs. To destroy the root of that, we must start with taking down their leader. We have to kill Ra's al Ghul." he coldly said, no hint of emotion revealed beneath the mask.

Another member of the audience stands up. A woman in a red dress with long hair. She holds herself with a confident demeanour.

"If we are to do this, we should get him at his most unprotected point. I suggest hitting him from within the contest. We send in one of our own operatives as a 'Batman candidate', not to win the mantle for their selves, but to murder Ra's in the process." she looks around the room for an approval of her suggestion. The man on stage seems hesitant. He paces back and forth while the court watches in silence.

"Who? Who do you suggest we send?" he asks to no one in particular. There is a murmuring and whispered conversations around the tables. Suddenly the fat man stands up again.

"May I be so bold to tell you I have already prepared a solution to this problem. Bring him in," he gestures to a door in the back of the stage which opens at once from within. Two hefty men in masks drag a prisoner through the doors and shove him roughly to the stage. He has a black hood covering his face and his hands are cuffed together. One of the guards whips off the hood to reveal the appearance of the man beneath. It is Lincoln March, brother of Bruce Wayne. His face is sullen and raised grey veins run across his face. His once neatly trimmed hair is matted and longer.

"Lincoln March! You have removed him from his stasis chamber, what is the meaning of this?" the tall man who had asserted control over the meeting moments ago is flustered by this unexpected display. Over at the table, the overweight man who had arranged March's release is much calmer as he explains himself.

"This is exactly what we need. I took the initiative and released him from his stasis earlier than we had planned, but for good reason. Lincoln is the perfect soldier, he has proved himself on numerous occasions. I guarantee you he will get our objective done." He seems sure of himself, now appearing to be the one in charge of the situation. March's face gives nothing away, he keeps his head lowered not moving.

The tall man takes a while to respond, walking around to face March. He leans down, coming to eye level with him, the smooth featureless mask intimidatingly blank. This still elicits no response from the captive man.

"I am willing to give this a chance. But say we go ahead and let March enter the contest as our assassin, how to we ensure he does what he is told?" he asks. The fat man walks forwards and comes up onto the stage. Uncaringly, he grabs hold of March's face and inspects him like he is checking out the quality of a piece of meat.

"Look at his face. You see the electrum formula running through his veins, it is the only thing sustaining his life now. Once it bonded with his cells, he became reliant on it's healing factor. That is how we keep him in check, by controlling the only thing keeping him alive. He will be forced to comply with our objectives, if he wants to continue using our supply of electrum." The man said, getting the response he wanted as March cries out and struggles against his cuffs.

The two guards rush in and hold him back. He resists for a moment and then goes limp again, realising there aren't many options left for him other than going along with the plan, if he wants to survive. The tall man regains his composure and leadership role, barking out orders.

"Take him away. Get him prepared for tomorrow's contest. Now, this meeting is over." He said to the watching court in front of him. They begin to file out of the restaurant into the night, removing their masks on the way out. It would seem to any outsider that these were just normal wealthy citizens heading home after a night out.

Lincoln March is dragged back into his containment cell. One of the guards injects him with a fresh dose of electrum, rejuvenating his strength. He sits in waiting, thinking ahead to the contest he is being forced to take part in, and the victim he will have to kill there.

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The moon gives a dim glow over the city and the entrance to the Old Gotham Subway, the light obscured by dark storm clouds. As it approaches midnight a small group is gathering, all waiting to be let in for the first round of the New Knight contest. The first to arrive was Slade Wilson, AKA Deathstroke. He is wearing his orange and black mask and armour, a long sword and machine gun are strapped onto his belt. Each of his fists are clenched in either anger or anticipation.

The next to arrive was King Snake. He shakes Deathstroke's hand, trying to build alliances at once. He wears martial arts white trousers but no shirt, showing a green curling snake tattoo on his lean muscled torso. While he waits he practices kung fu punches and kicks.

Next came Ra's al Ghul, standing proud with both hands leaning on his curved sword like a cane. Behind him come a few League of assassin soldiers, dressed all in black. They are raising their swords, ready to protect their leader. Deathstroke simply nods to him as he arrives, a sign of mutual respect. They both think to themselves about how evenly matched they are in swordsmanship, and formulate a plan to gain the upper hand.

Next is Elliot Caldwell, AKA Wrath. He wears brown and black Batman-like armour covered with yellow lights. A 'W' shape is on the chest piece where the bat symbol would be. On his back is a large rifle. He appears to be nervous from his crossed arms and impatient tapping of his foot.

"You're a cheap Batman knock off Wrath." Deathstroke insults, voice muffled by his mask.

"Better watch your mouth Slade, if you don't want to lose that other eye." He replies starkly bringing his hand up to his gun. Ra's cuts in.

"Holster your weapons men. This is mere squabble, the real fight comes later." He coolly commands with authority. They stand down, knowing better than to risk a fight.

Standing off to the side is Theodore Grant AKA Wildcat. He is wearing his black costume, and mask complete with two cat-like ears on top. The ends of his gloves are wrapped round with boxer's hand wraps. He cracks his knuckles, ready to fight.

With him is Benjamin Turner, AKA Bronze Tiger. On the side of his head and across his cheeks are claw mark scars. He wears an orange shirt and brown jacket. The buckle of his belt is shaped like a silver roaring tiger head. They had both come together, and, as allies of Batman, feel apart from the rest of the contestants. Their aim is to work side by side in the contest, to ensure one of them becomes a Batman that's working on the side of good.

Lastly, comes Lincoln March. The grey skin colouring and signs of damage are now gone, result of the electrum top up. He appears out of place in his white shirt and tie, but also because the other candidates know him only as the Mayoral candidate and head of his company March Ventures.

"Well, well, if it isn't Lincoln March. Fancy yourself as some kind of fighter as well as our next mayor do ya?" Deathstroke probes the question. March doesn't respond. He thinks to himself about lying low. Not blowing his cover as a Court of Owls operative until it was time to strike. Before Deathstroke can press further, there is a noise that draws everyone's attention.

At the subway entrance, one of the large double doors opens and something steps out. It is a large humanoid robot painted in green and purple. On it's side is written 'LEX-BOT'. It walks mechanically in front of the crowd. From a speaker when it's mouth would be, comes the voice of Lex Luthor.

"Welcome all to my New Knight contest. As all of you well know, the winner will get to become the new Batman, fully equipped and funded by my corporation. But before you enter, know that beyond this door there is no turning back, for anyone." the voice tells the group.

"Now, a full body scan is required to check your vital signs. Stand with your arms outstretched." Lex said. The Lex-bot trundles over to the first contestant. It projects a bright green beam of light from one of it's hands, and casts it over the length of their body. Then it moves along the line scanning each of them in turn. The robot finishes it's scan and then spins around. It trundles back through the open door.

For a moment no one moves, unsure now of what to do. Deathstroke takes charge, and is the first to step through the door. The others follow one by one into the dark entrance. Once all seven contestants are inside the door shuts with a distinctive sound of a locking mechanism sliding into place. It's pitch-black. From the echoing footsteps it's clear they are in a cavernous space. The robot is still visible by the reflective green and purple sheen.

An intense floodlight bursts into life overhead, lighting up the room. Gone is any trace of the old abandoned subway station. Instead is a futuristic looking assault course. Across the room is a deep expansive pit. At the bottom is a pool of murky water. Hundreds of small platforms atop long poles seems to be the only way to get across. Lex's voice comes from the LexBot again.

"Round one! It's obvious what you have to do here, first one across to the other side wins! And the ones who gets left behind, will be eliminated. On my count, one, two, three!" he announces, the robot lifting it's arm to point to the winning area on the other side of the deadly pit. Immediately, everyone bursts into action.

King Snake is the first onto the platforms. Leaping and flipping from one to the next, each platform only small enough for one foot. Without faltering even for a second, he reaches the end. Deathstroke isn't far behind. He is slower but still agile, getting a good grip with his metal boots. When he lands with an action roll on safe ground, King Snake helps him to his feet.

"I'm not making any enemies just yet." He says, trying to get on the good side of the assassin that they all know is one of the strongest in the group.

"We'll see about that." Deathstroke responds dismissively.

Ra's al Ghul steps cautiously onto the first platform and it teeters precariously. He begins making his way across, taking his time. He dosen't want to risk his place in the contest by rushing ahead. Lincoln pursues him, a look of anger on his face. His target is directly ahead. But he controls himself, now isn't the moment. He wouldn't want to fall himself. Looking at the looming water down below, he decides to wait until a later round, when Ra's has been further weakened. For now, he focuses on staying on his feet.

Little by little, Wrath traverses the course. His metal suit weighs down the platforms, making them tilt dangerously. Desperation sets in as he sees he's in last position. No, he thinks, this can't be his elimination. Not in the very first round. The reputation of the Wrath would be in tatters. He glances to his side. Around ten metres away Wildcat is stepping across a particularly unstable area of platforms.

Spitefully, Wrath slams his foot onto a platform. It tips. Slams into another. It also topples, then another. A wave of platforms fall like dominos, spreading to where Wildcat is completely unaware of the imminent threat. Ra's and Lincoln look back at the destruction, both safe themselves. Under Wildcat's feet, his platform buckles and breaks. He loses his footing. Airborne for a second, then falling. With cat-like reflexes, he grips one of the poles with both hands. It isn't sustainable, and already he starts to slide down towards the water.

"No! Hold on Ted! Hold on," Bronze Tiger calls out to his friend, still clinging for his life. Wrath turns to face his newly riled up opponent.

"Come on Tiger, just try it and see what happens!" Wrath shouts, his mask distorting his voice menacingly. Bronze Tiger sprint forwards, barely gliding across each platform. He keeps his head down, charging at Wrath. His stride is broken by a defensive upper cut from an armoured fist. The attack is brushed off easily, and responded to with a jab to the stomach.

Wrath recoils from the attack, stepping backwards, his weight now unsteadily spread across two platforms. Bronze Tiger spins round, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick into the side of Wrath's body. This tips him off balance. He is winded as he collapses, rolling off the edge. One hand grips the slippery surface, keeping him above the water, hanging by one arm.

"Never! You, you can't do this!" he shouts, his voice strained. His metal glove slides off the smooth metal surface. As he falls he lets out a choked scream. With a heavy clunk, he slams into the shallow water. A crackle of electricity spreads out over his suit as it short circuits. His body shakes as the current flows through him. Ripples of energy spread through the water and snake upwards, lapping at Wildcat's feet as he grips the pole.

Bronze Tiger backflips skilfully and reaches down one arm to Wildcat. His grip falters and he falls backwards. He is saved by Bronze Tiger's iron grip on the back of his costume. With a heave, he hoists him back up onto the platform, just as a rapid burst of electricity shoots from the front of Wrath's suit. Steam rises from his metal mask. A chortled gurgle rings out as his systems powers down after the last release of energy. The lights across his costume go out and he sinks under the surface of the water.

"Thanks for saving my skin man. I owe you one." Wildcat shakily said as he rises to his feet. He brushes down his now crumpled costume.

"No problem, now lets get to winning this contest." Bronze Tiger replies. From overhead speakers comes a booming voice. All the contestants looks upwards to where it emanates from.

"Congratulations! To those of you who made it, that is. Now we move swiftly onto the next round." Lex Luthor's mocking voice cuts out as abruptly as it began. The back wall shifts and a section rises up ito create a doorway. Deathstroke looks around suspiciously.

"Feels weird, being watched all the time." He mumbles.

"One believes you think a little too highly of Mr Luthor, he wouldn't care to grace us with his presence. These messages are clearly pre-recorded." Ra's said with contempt.

"Still feels pretty weird." Deathstroke said. One by one, the contestants go through the doorway into whatever test lies ahead. Embedded in the wall, a carefully hidden camera zooms in, manually tracking and watching them as they go.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Escalation

It's midnight in the Gotham suburbs. Rich citizens are settling down, and going to sleep. A gathering of troops makes it's way along the neighbourhood street. Roman leads the pack, holding aloft a large automatic rifle. His mask reflects the white glow of the moon. Alongside him is Warren White, the Great White Shark. He has a pistol tucked into a holster. Behind them are three dozen of Black Mask's men, the 'False Facers'. Each one wears body armour and carries heavy duty machine guns. On their faces are masks of all different variations. African tribal masks, Halloween monster masks and makeshift faces painted onto sacks. They look like a grotesque group of creatures straight out of hell.

As they head down the suburban street some people rush inside their houses and lock the doors. A man draws his front room's blinds in a futile attempt to shut out the danger. A couple of women run away screaming from the approaching army. The sight of the gang is a disruption to the norms of Gotham, the crime of the inner city has crossed the threshold into society.

Warren's walkie talkie crackles into life. He presses a button and holds it to his ear. The shrill angry voice of The Penguin comes over the other side.

"What's happening, where are you?" he impatiently shouts.

"We're on the South Side, heading over there now." Warren replies in a gravely tone. He is following the orders to break into one of Falcone's weapon stashes. They have intel from The Lion that it's been hidden in the rich suburbs, where no one will think to look.

"Good, very good. If there's anyone guarding it, don't leave them alive. Take out every last one of his goons!" Penguin rasps, especially short tempered. He ends the conversation with what sounds like the walkie talkie being thrown to the ground. Warren turns to the troops.

"That was the Penguin! And he has a message for you! When you come across Falcone's men, kill them all!" he victoriously shouts, raising his gun. The men shout and cheer in agreement. They press onwards down the street. Warren leans over to Roman and talks quietly to him, out of ear shot of the other men.

"What's our strategy here? What if the stash is protected? I'm not sure we have enough firepower here-" he asks, before Roman interrupts him.

"Don't worry about that. They have no idea we're coming. And even if they do, Falcone has run out of allies. It's him against the entire Gotham underworld." He determinedly proclaims, looking ahead at their target. At the end of the street is a large new house. To the average onlooker it would appear as just a regular up-market new home. On closer inspection they would notice the insides are just an empty shell. Rooms filled with no furnishings of any kind, just stacks and stacks of crates labelled 'Weapons' and 'Ammunition'.

The group reaches the house. They cautiously approach, guns drawn. Roman gestures with a hand signal, and the men split off into two groups. One group spreads out, taking defensive positions across the perimeter of the street, ready for an oncoming ambush. The other group surrounds the doors and windows, pointing their guns inside. After scoping out the interior, one False Facer gives the 'all clear' signal and they breach the front door with a few shots to the lock.

Warren kicks the door and it flies open. The house is filled with shadows and is eerily silent. A cloud of dust is billowed up from the gust of wind. Stacks of crates are everywhere, filling all the space in the hollowed-out building. It's being used like a huge warehouse.

"It's all here. Ours for the taking!" Warren grins a toothy smile as he smugly addresses the troops. They file into the room. At once they are excited, looking at the boxes labels and thinking about the damage they could do with what's inside them. As they relax and let their guard down some of them take off their masks, lowering their guns. Roman doesn't seem too confident. He is still glancing back to the door, paranoid.

"It's too easy. Why would they have let this place go unguarded? It doesn't make sense." He said, sounding worried. Warren pats him on the back reassuringly.

"Come on, we did it. Quit being so-" he stops mid-sentence when there is a creaking sound from behind him. One of the False Facers is prizing open a crate with a crowbar. The lid pops up and there is a hideous whirring sound.

"No, no, get away from there, get down!" Roman cries out and throws himself to the ground as an automated turret rises out the open box. Machinery whirrs deafeningly as it powers up. The barrel spins and the men scrabble to run clear. It fires wildly side to side. White hot bullets fly. The darkness lights up with flashes as the men are cut down. The turret continues mercilessly. Round after round pummels into the back wall as the remaining men lay just inches below the line of fire.

After a minute the turret's barrel slows to a gentle spin. Steam rises out of the back. The red hot metal cools. It is a further few minutes before anyone dares to stand up again, the six men still cowering on the ground. Roman and Warren get to their feet. One of the False Facers is writing in pain. The others help pull him upright and he winces, clutching his arm. There is a bullet hole through it and blood seeping through his shirt.

"Let's go! Now!" Roman shouts. The injured man is lifted up by the other False Facers and they hobble out the door. The six of them come out into the street, guns scanning for enemies. Strewn across the street are the men who were guarding the outside area. They were shot in the backs, the turret's bullets passing right through the thin walls of the new house and out across the street.

Across the front garden, the troops hurry away, going as fast as they can carrying the injured man. Someone trips and they drop him. He cries out in pain. They struggle picking him up again, Roman is getting agitated. Suddenly the roar of an engine echoes across the street. A large armoured truck tears down the road.

"Go, go, run!" Roman demands. The men carry on, still lifting the injured troop. The truck stops with a screech of tyres. The doors are flung open and three black-suited gangsters drop down onto the street. They lift tommy guns and open fire.

The false facers drop their wounded friend and break off, running in different directions. None make it more than a few steps before they are easily targeted and cut down with a flurry of shots to the back. Warren and Roman are left unscathed, purposely left alive.

The gangsters lower their steaming weapons and step back. Warren looks around at those who were fleeing for their live seconds earlier, face down on the wet lawn. From within the truck there is a huge figure that ducks out from the door. He steps down onto the pavement, towering large over the gangsters who move aside to clear a path. Tobias Whale's ginormous frame is a powerful presence in front of the two would be attackers, now reduced to weak, outnumbered wrecks.

Tobias grins and two rows of golden teeth glint and flicker on nasty yellow gums. His pale albino skin is covered with lined scars. His suit is a brilliant white, but an overly small fit on his supersized, budging torso, and sticking out belly. Scuffed gold chains and necklaces hang around his neck between grotesque rolls of fat. As he steps forward he appears to strain under his own immense weight. It is immediately obvious why he earned the nickname 'whale', not only from his appearance, but his reputation as a ruthless uncaring killer.

Warren and Roman don't dare trying to run. They both stand, frozen in fear. Neither one wants to share the same fate as the false facers. Tobias stands over them, looking with distain between the two.

"Which one of you is in charge here?" he asks in a deep voice. He cracks his knuckles, seemingly warming up to something. The jewelled gold rings on his fingers clink. Roman bravely raises his head and speaks, his voice sounding timid even behind the muffling wood.

"I, am. Don't-" he is cut of by Tobias' meaty grip around his throat. With ease he is lifted off his feet and suspended in the air, his breath cut off. He writhes in the hold as Tobias brings Roman's face up close to his.

"Falcone warned me you would be too clever to fall into our ambush. Guess he underestimated how incompetent Penguin's lackeys would be." He said this without any trace of mercy, his breath reeking of raw meat. With his free hand, Tobias delivers a forceful punch into the front of Roman's forehead. He is flung downwards, hitting the lawn and lying still immediately. In the wooden surface is an imprint of a fist, in the centre of a web of cracks and splinters. Visible beneath is the seared skin, once permanently bonded to the material. Tobias stares at the damage, then turns back to Warren.

"Now, I'd like you to deliver a message to your pal Oswald. Tell him that Falcone will take over every one of his territories in Gotham, and slaughter anybody that gets in the way. Tell him that he will never be safe in this city again." He speaks slowly, making sure his point is well understood. Warren looks up at the monstrous, grotesque face in front of him. Red rage builds inside, no one talks down to him like this. But he holds back, there was no use fighting.

Tobias turns and waddles back to the truck, his goons following silently. He climbs into the seat and the truck shifts from the extra weight. Warren goes over to Black Mask, kneeling down to see the extant of the damage. With a gentle shake Roman comes to, coughing and spluttering. Warren looks up at the gangsters with a stare full of hatred. They get in the truck and the engine starts up with a dirty rumbling and spurts of black smoke from the exhaust. Tobias rolls down the window.

"And I have a special message for you 'shark'. Ever cross me again, and I'll eat ya." He grins, knowing he has all the control. The injured pair can do nothing but watch as the truck pulls away, leaving the estate littered with the bodies of their soldiers.

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The roof of the Gotham Police department is silent. A breeze carries the fumes of the city through the air. Jim Gordon stands smoking a cigarette. The small orange glow of the lit end is the only light up there. It reflects the light on his glasses, illuminating his tired and bloodshot eyes. He watches the city below. The cars heading across the bridge. People walking through the town, heading home.

The news of Batman's death had saddened Gordon more than most. Although he didn't know who he was, they had always had a connection. A mutual trust. But now when he was needed most, he was gone. His hope was always with Batman swooping in to save the day, Gordon had always felt safe knowing he was out there somewhere. Right now he felt more unsafe and alone than ever.

He turns to look at the large Batsignal behind him. It is switched off, now worthless with nobody to answer its call. They would probably dismantle it now, he thinks sadly. The budget was tight nowadays. And stretched even thinner with the recent rises in gang crime. The officers they did have out on the street were undertrained and struggling. The state of the GCPD was dire. He looks to the Batsignal, deciding to give it one last usage.

He switches it on, sending a blinding yellow beam of light into the darkness. The dark clouds of the night are lit up with the shape of a bat, giant across the sky. He can't help but feel some sense of excitement at the sight of it. But no one would come now. He switches it off again.

There is a zipping sound. Gordon instantly recognises it as the sound of a grappling hook being retracted. He spins round, seeing a shape swoop down and land gracefully on the roof. The figure is in shadow. Only visible are the two large black ears on the top of its head. He is filled with immense hope momentarily. Was it really him?

The figure steps into the light, it's Batgirl, her usual confidence clearly lacking. She walks towards Gordon and embraces him. They hug tightly. She slowly takes off her mask, letting her bright orange hair spill to the sides.

"It's me dad. I'm Batgirl. I thought after everything, that you should finally know." She tells him, expectantly waiting for a reply. Gordon chuckles, and hugs her again.

"Oh darling, I knew. I knew all along. Of course I did Barbara. I'm your father. And I'm also a police detective, a good one. I worried every time you put on that darn costume. Telling me you were hanging out with friends, or at a sleepover when I knew you were fighting crime every night." He says, in a loving tone.

"Sorry. It just feels like everything is falling apart. Where do we go from here dad?" she looks him in the eyes. He switches on the Batsignal again. It lights up again, giving a warm glow over everything.

"We start by keeping this old thing turned on, every night. This city still needs heroes Barbara, it still needs a bat." He smiles, raising his head to the sky where the symbol of hope shines.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The next stage

The contestants file into the next room of the subway, the door closing behind them automatically. This room seems to be entirely empty, blank white walls and a high ceiling. It's a huge space, as big as a warehouse. They look around, all of them backing away from each other, weary of what might be about to happen. An announcement comes over speakers, echoing around the room.

"Welcome to round two. That last one was just a warmup, easy. This is where the real test begins. Before we continue, everyone needs to remove their armour and equipment. Place everything except the clothes on your back into the container." Lex's voice rings out. From out of the floor, a large open container rises up. Everyone goes about removing and storing things inside it. Ra's begrudgingly hands over his exquisite sword. Wildcat takes off his mask, showing his red out of breath face, and bruised skin. Deathstroke takes off his armour plating, and the weapons he brought. Across his eyes is a patch, the area around it a rough and scarred. Once everything is inside, the container lowers back down under the floor, sealing over again.

Everyone is exposed. Their advantages stripped away. They wear nothing but their regular clothing. All they have now is their strength. Lex's voice suddenly comes over the speakers again.

"Right, now we have an even playing field. The challenge is simple, make it out of the room. The last one left in here, will be eliminated." His voice is cut off. For a few seconds, nothing happens. There is a tension in the air. Then suddenly on the far wall a single door opens, the wall swinging open. Instantly they burst into action, running towards it.

King Snake is far ahead, easily the fastest of the group. Deathstroke is just behind him. They seem to be working together. The others lag behind, looking on as the pair are about to reach the doorway. Something shoots up out of the floor, inches from King Snake, a spinning metal saw. He falls back as it buzzes and rotates with a threatening whirring noise. The sound grows louder as more circular saws start to pop up from the floor across the whole room.

Bronze Tiger and Wildcat stick together, traversing the floor. Sidestepping when more and more saws come in and out of the ground almost randomly. Ra's runs alongside them, faster than either. He swerves skilfully around the danger. He cuts a path in front of them both, turning back to face them.

"Don't try it. One of us has to stay behind." He shouts menacingly, the sound of mechanical whirring drowning him out.

Lincoln is in last place. He goes carefully, waiting until the saws in front of him lower again before continuing. Ahead he spots King Snake make it first out of the door. He can't be taken out at this stage he thinks to himself, he has to sabotage someone else.

Deathstroke watches King Snake leave. He steps forward, pulling back immediately as a saw springs out. Then two more to either side of him. He is trapped. From behind, he hears footsteps running. Lincoln sprints towards where Deathstroke is pinned down.

Wildcat tries to push past Ra's, being met with an agile punch. He ducks out of the way like a boxer, then swings his fist. Ra's easily blocks the blow with his outstretched palm pushing outwards. Bronze Tiger rushes in from the side, leaping to knock the wind out of Ra's.

They both topple over together, Ra's rolling out of a saws reach on the ground. Bronze Tiger isn't so lucky. He lands in a saw's path. It slices a gash through his arm. He cries out, clutching his side as blood flows freely out of the cut.

"Wildcat run! Go!" he shouts through the pain. Wildcat has a panicked expression, not sure what to do. He continues to run past them to the doorway, leaving his friend behind in moment of self preservation.

Deathstroke stands at the ready, still trapped by the blades around him. Lincoln approaches fast, barrelling forwards with his head down. His skin has a sickly grey colour, result of the electrum in his blood. It is only just sustaining him.

"Come on, come on" Deathstroke mutters to himself, waiting for his chance to move. Lincoln rushes forwards. The saws fall away, giving Deathstroke his moment of opportunity. He sidesteps, leaving his charging opponent to go careering into the wall behind. Lincoln, picks himself up and can only watch as yet another contestant goes through the door ahead of him. He mutters angrily to himself, rage building up inside him.

Ra's stand over Bronze Tiger. He checks behind, seeing they are the only two left in the room. Bronze Tiger crawls across the ground, dragging himself.

"Stop, you don't have to. Just let me, lose the contest. You don't-" his words are cut short as Ra's picks him up, lifting him easily as if he weighs nothing. He holds him aloft, above the still spinning deadly sharp saws. It would be so easy to let him drop downwards. To let him slice in half on the razor blade. Ra's considers it for a moment, looking into the man's scared eyes.

He gives in to his more merciful instincts, throwing him off to the side where he lays groaning in a growing pool of blood. This isn't the place for thoughtless killing, he decides. Ra's approaches the doorway that he knows will secure him his place in the next round. There is nothing but silence from beyond it. The sounds of the other contestants is nowhere to be heard. He peers into the dark, seeing nothing but blackness. Something is off.

Ra's cautiously steps forward into the dark. He can't see an inch in front of his face. He takes another step forward. There is a strong chemically smell in the air. Ra's recognises it as the scent of knockout gas. He panics. His head spins. The last thing he sees before hitting the floor is a hazy cloud spread across his vision.

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Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, otherwise known as Nightwing and Red Robin, sit in front of the Batcave computer. They wear their civilian clothes. Tim has a smart white shirt, and Dick wears a dark hoodie. Their last outing in their vigilante personas had gone horribly wrong. An attempt to reduce the gang violence had led to a near fatal train crash. Their valiant attempts at heroism only ended up making things worse. With Batman gone, they felt powerless.

On the computer is a live feed from a news report. It shows the reporter Vicki Vale, who stands in front of a large suburban house. Bullet holes are ripped through the doors and the windows are shattered.

"Vicki Vale coming to you live, I'm here outside one of the houses that was hit by yesterday's attack. You can see here some of the gunmen's bullets, ripped through the front door. A result of a vicious firefight between two of Gotham city's rival costumed gangs. This spread of crime from the inner city to the suburbs represents rising levels of so called 'turf wars'. We come now to one of the residents of the street, what do you make of this?" she asks a middle aged man, looking riled up and red faced.

"I think this is a failing of the police department, plain and simple! I used to be able to walk down my own street without the threat of these crazy masked thugs, going round thinking they can do whatever they want. This kinda thing never happened when the bat was around, I just don't think this city can handle things now he's gone. Now just how do you suppose 'Commissioner' Jim Gordon and his GCPD clowns can pick up the slack? They can't protect us! Just look at my new windows, ruined!" he points to the damage on his house, clearly angry. Vicki remains professional, she smiles, the camera turning back to her. She holds up her microphone again.

"There we have it. It's clear these attacks are having an impact on the people of the city. And I think we do have to question, what exactly is the police department going to do about it? The rising crime epidemic forces me to ask, are any of us safe in our own homes anymore? Back to you in the studio." She remarks. Tim cuts off the feed with a remote, the screen goes black. He stands and walks away without speaking. Dick follows him, a look of concern on his face.

Tim goes over to a storage area of the cave, where the various superhero costumes are displayed in cylindrical glass cases. He looks at his Red Robin outfit in the case, it is still covered in grease stains and dirt from the city.

"What is it Tim?" Dick asks, coming over next to him.

"It's just that, they're right. We can't save the city. We're not strong enough." He replies, looking off to the side. Dick doesn't know how to reply. He can't seem to argue. It does feel hopeless, like things are slipping out of control. He thought about putting on the Batman costume, taking over the role like he did last time Bruce was out of action. But it didn't feel right this time.

"Look we can't give up. We have to keep trying. We-" he puts on the act of the more mature person.

"What? What can we possibly do?" he snaps, annoyed at everything. They are interrupted by a cough behind them. They both turn to see Alfred standing coming down the cave steps. He is walking with a cane, a rare sight. He is looking weary.

"Bruce wouldn't want you to lose hope. He wouldn't want you to lose sight of his mission. His legacy needs to continue." He said, coming over to the computer. He sits down, and then brings something up onto the screen. The boys come and stand behind him watching.

"Here, the legacy fund." He tells them. Their eyes light up as they see the huge sum of money in the secret account.

"It's a gift to the city. Enough to fuel it for years to come. Look. No wait, this isn't right." He is confused and panicked at once.

"This isn't right at all. The money was supposed to be sent to charity, but now. Now it's been stopped. Someone has frozen the transactions! I'm locked out of the accounts." He is frantic, tapping commands into the keyboard. Nothing seems to work. The account flashes up red each time with a message that seems to mock them 'UNAUTHORISED ACCESS'.

"This can't be happening. Someone is diverting the funds, and we can't do a thing about it." He shakes his head in disbelief. Tim takes over, bringing up a complex screen of code. He expertly works the system, his technical knowledge coming into play.

"Right. I couldn't bypass the lock, but I was able to get through to the IP address of whoever's controlling the fund. An account at Wayne Tower, Bruce's account." He says in shock. Tim and Dick look to each other, plans of action already whizzing through their minds. They turn to leave.

"Wait, hold on. Don't go rushing off. It's not safe." Alfred calls out to them.

"Hold on, I don't think anyone should be going out in costume right now. After, what happened. We have to think about this. Whoever took control of the fund used Bruce's personal computer, in his office. They would have been noticed by security unless they-" he trails off, thinking. Dick gets an idea suddenly.

"Unless they looked like him. Nobody could just walk in there unless the security though they were Bruce Wayne. It's an imposter! A doppleganger." he exclaims.

"Clayface?" Tim wonders.

"No, it must be hush. It has to be." Alfred replies.

"We have to warn people. We have to take him out." Tim said determinedly.

"Its too dangerous. Everyone thinks he's the real deal. If we make a move everyone will just think we're going after the real Bruce. There has to be another way." Dick explains, his calculating mind running overtime. He struggles to come up with a plan of attack that won't get them in even more trouble. Hush was smart, and he would surely have some sort of escape plan already in place. They had to prove to the world that the real Bruce Wayne was dead.

"I have an idea but you're not going to like it." Dick tells them. They look to him in anticipation.

"We have to prove that Hush is a fake, that the real Bruce is dead. We have to reveal the Batman's secret identity to the world.".

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Thomas Elliot sits in his office, his feet up on the desk. The whole day has been a long and tiresome process. New orders would come onto the phone, Bruce's old phone, and he would carry them out. They were mostly investments, slowly siphoning Wayne Enterprise's funds out into other companies, no doubt to further increase Luthor's enormous wealth. He was hating every moment of it, just being someone else's pawn, yet he knew he had to continue. The ever-present threat of Deadshot's bullet hung over him. Occasionally he would glance over to the nearby building, knowing he is being watched.

But he has one thing up his sleeve. The 'Legacy Fund', millions that is known only to him. He had already cancelled it's distribution to various charitable causes. It was almost too good to be true, he was struggling to decide how he would use it. But one thing was clear, it would have to start with removing the assassin watching his every move. Thomas decides to call some of his old friends. He dials up a number on the smart phone. A voice comes over the other end.

"This is Eric Needham. What do you want?" he speaks bluntly. Thomas recognises the voice of the assassin they call the 'Black Spider', an expert killer and marksman.

"Eric, ive got a job for you." He says, in a leading manner.

"How much does it pay? Who's the target?" Eric is straight to the point. Thomas knows their relationship is a tentative one, but the monetary motivation would surely be enough to get him on board.

"It pays well. One million. And the target, Deadshot." He said, hoping the formidable opponent wouldn't be turn him off. Eric is silent for a few moments as he considers the deal.

"Hmm. That's a big ask Hush. Two million." He states, not expecting to be told no. Thomas grits his teeth. He doesn't want to be cleaned out, but he needs someone with Eric's expertise. Very few other people would even have a slim chance against Deadshot. He decides to give in.

"Ok. Two million. And here's the thing. I need it done quiet. We cant have anyone finding out he's missing. For a while at least." Thomas tells him.

"It'll get done." Eric stressed before hanging up. Hush is elated, everything is going his way. He looks out again to the cityscape, knowing it wouldn't be long before the assassin watching his every move was taken out.


End file.
